


Doctor Mills, Medicine Woman

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So... it's Doctor Quinn. Y'all got that, right? Because you're all old enough to have watched it in the 90s, right? Um. Don't answer that.</p><p>Lady doctors might as well be witches, and Regina is Boston royalty. Emma is the solitary blonde living off the land. The town is ramshackle and resistant, but perseverance and competence might just win the day. And somewhere along the line, Emma and Regina might just come to see each other as more than allies in the bid to provide healthcare to Colorado Springs.</p><p>***NO FURTHER UPDATES as of 21st June, 2015***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Last Letter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856742) by [napfreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/napfreak/pseuds/napfreak). 



> The show did try, if I recall correctly, to make a more sensitive portrayal of how Native Americans were treated by the Colorado settlers. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to make that the central focus of the story: I'm not qualified. Any references to 'Indians' are deliberate in that case, and restricted to dialogue, purely because that's the language of the time, for better or worse. Of course, this is an historical AU and people will be given their place in history. I just won't overstep my bounds as a white girl, essentially. Please tell me if I fail on this in any way.

**Beacon Hill, Boston, MA - 1867 ******

 

Regina closes her eyes, nose wrinkling at the jarring smell of marigolds, stuffed in too many vases around the parlor. The low murmur of each guest as they arrive passes her by, she hides her mouth behind her handkerchief in hopes of concealing her dismay.

Mother, rigid in the seat next to her, accepts each handshake or powder-disturbing kiss like a queen greeting her subjects. Regina wonders, if she opens her eyes right now, will she see the local butcher scraping a bow, or that woman from the millinery falling into a curtsey. Almost sensing the silent misbehavior, Mother nudges her sharply in the ribs, bringing her back to the formalities of the receiving line, every bit as reluctant to be there as her sister Zelena, slumping down in her seat on Mother’s opposite side. It can’t be long before Zelena receives a sharp pinch to sit up straight, but Regina is too distraught to bother with warning her. 

“Mrs. Mills,” the pastor says eventually. “If you’d like to pay your respects now, and then I shall begin the service.”

“Of course,” Mother responds, her voice as light as though she’s been asked to bring the scones for the next parish meeting. “Come along, girls.”

Zelena’s husband and her two rambunctious sons are seated in the other three seats of the front row, waiting in discomfort. The summer day is far too hot for these stiff collars and everyone’s Sunday best. Regina herself can feel sweat dribbling down her back beneath the strictures of her corset. Life always finds a way, she thinks to herself, the half-smile at one of Daddy’s favorite pieces of advice is almost painful as it forms on her lips.

They step in shuffling procession past the coffin. This part, Regina has dreaded and still feels in no way prepared for. She’s no stranger to a cadaver. The damaged bodies of the dead and unclaimed were a staple of her education, but for the person she loves most in this world to be the stiff and unnatural body in front of her is perhaps more than she can bear. 

Zelena breaks first, sobbing into the palm of her hand. Mother nods her head towards her husband of thirty-something years, barely a flicker of emotion is allowed in front of a gathering such as this. Doctor Mills, pillar of Beacon Hill society and the kindest man Regina had ever known, is to be given the most proper of send-offs. Even the Mayor himself is in attendance, something that has comforted Mother considerably during this very dark time.

Without thinking, Regina reaches out to touch him through her tears. Mother catches her wrist just in time, pinching the skin severely as she yanks the hand back. Such displays of common emotion should be beneath them, Regina’s been hearing the same lecture for three days. Yet her instinct for comfort, for the memory of her father’s generous, stabilizing hands, has betrayed her at the worst possible moment. 

“Regina,” Mother speaks her name as a warning, and Regina sighs in acknowledgment. They take their seats, stiff and proper at the head of the mourners. The platitudes and speeches are easy to ignore, in the end. Regina sits in demure silence, mentally counting and naming the 206 bones of the human body until she’s finally permitted to rush from this staid gathering and seek some solace in the kitchen.

***

“Enough,” Mother announces three weeks later, sweeping into the practice office like a small hurricane in vibrant navy blue silk. It’s a departure from the habitual black, and a daring one so soon into widowhood, but Mother has found a steely confidence since becoming the de facto head of the family. “The patients aren’t coming back, darling. And nor is your father, no matter how many hours you sit in here pining for him.”

“They’re my patients, too,” Regina reminds her mother. “Why, Mrs. Nolan alone is far too ill to be shopping around for someone new, I expect she’ll show up any day now, begging for an appointment.”

“She’s already moved to Whale’s practice. Just like most of the neighborhood. He bought that house next to the Hubbards, and has turned the entire ground floor into his surgery. I daresay the Hubbards won’t like what that does to their property value.”

“Whale?” Regina groans. The man is a snake-oil salesman, better versed in carnival tricks than actual medicine. “Surely none of our people are stupid enough to fall for that charlatan?”

“They are, and they have. It seems when it comes to doctors, a little dishonesty pales when compared to the true crime of being a woman.” Mother’s spite is sharper than usual this morning, and Regina is quite literally biting her tongue to keep from making an ill-advised retort. Things are quite fraught enough without deliberately antagonizing Mother. 

“Well, I have to do something!” Regina insists, standing up just long enough to slam her hands down on the polished oak of her father’s beautiful desk. A sudden, vivid memory of sitting here on his knee as a child, no more than four or five years old, is enough to render her silent as she fights back more tears.

“You could concentrate your efforts on finding a husband,” Mother reminds her, not for the first time. “Leopold White has been sniffing around you long enough, Regina. The man owns more land than he knows what to do with, for goodness sakes. How much better of a match must you wait for?”

“Yes, Mother,” Regina bows her head. “Once I’ve mourned Daddy appropriately, I’ll certainly think about it.”

“See that you do. Here’s today’s paper, if you want it. I’m done for now.”

The Herald lands on the desk, but Mother lingers a moment longer.

“Your father indulged you, Regina. He made you believe in a world quite different to how things really are. It’s time to come back and join the rest of us. No more fantasies. It’s time to belong.”

“My medical degree is not a fantasy,” Regina snaps. Despite the dark warning in Mother’s eyes and the slight flaring of her nostrils, Regina can’t even bring herself to regret it. “If this world cannot accept that I can heal people, then perhaps I belong in another world altogether.”

“Perhaps you do,” Mother answers, her voice too sweet to be trusted. “But as long as you are in this one, you will bring no further shame on this house. Do I make myself clear?”

“As crystal,” Regina answers, slumping down in her chair and starting to turn the pages of the paper without much concern for their contents. “I’ll be in for lunch. I promise.”

“See that you are.” Mother sniffs, sweeping out in her usual bustle of skirts. 

Regina stares at the page she’s landed on a little while longer, the words blurring through her tears. When she finally dabs at her eyes that the advertisement comes into focus. She holds her breath and reads it again, unable to believe her good fortune.

_Doctor wanted. Colorado Territory._

The application details couldn’t be simpler. Regina is scrabbling around in the desk drawer for pen and paper before she can even rationalize what she’s doing. There can’t be many established doctors willing to uproot their families and leave the security of Boston for life on the frontier. This might just be the one place that can’t afford to be sniffy at the prospect of female doctors, and Regina can only hope that will work in her favor.

She composes her letter of application with a slightly-trembling hand, and if takes 12 drafts more than it should, she can’t say she’s sorry. Her last act of rebellion before lunch is to open the back door herself and whistle for an errand boy, just like Cook taught her. It doesn’t take long for one of the little urchins to appear, hat pulled down over his forehead, but dark curls escaping at every side.

“What’s your name?” Regina demands, and he scrapes his foot in the dirt of the vegetable patch, unsure whether to answer. “This letter is very important, so I need to know the name of the boy I trust it to, do you understand?”

“Roland, ma’am.”

“Do you know the Post Office on Washington Street?”

“Sure. My pop tried to rob it. The coppers took him in and I ain’t seen him since.”

For a moment, Regina is entirely lost for words. 

“Do you steal things?” She demands next. 

“No. Do you?”

“Of course not,” Regina scolds. “Here, take this nickel. That’s how much it costs for a stamp. If you come straight back, I’ll give you another nickel of your own for your trouble.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” The boy demands, indignant to a fault. “Why I might come back knocking on the door and you’ll send your maid to see me off with her broom.”

“I promise, I’ll be here, having lunch. If the maid answers, you tell her you want to see the doctor. The lady doctor.”

“Ain’t no such thing.”

“Oh, but there is. Hurry along, boy, The postmaster won’t wait all day, and that note has a ways to travel.”

He flicks the coin up in the air with the nail of his thumb, catching it again without blinking and shoving it in the pocket of his dirty shorts. The letter, thankfully, is placed in the pocket of his shirt, where it lies flat and shouldn’t crumple. Regina watches until the boy is out of sight down the back street, and wonders if she hasn’t just entrusted her one chance at freedom to a little wastrel. 

“Miss Regina!” The call comes out from the dining room, and Regina slips back inside with a sigh. She fingers the other nickel in the pocket of her dress as she walks in for the meal, hoping against hope that she’ll have cause to give it away before too long.

***

Mother stands in the entryway of the parlor, watching every step of the driver with disapproval. Outside the front door, Roland hops up and down the steps, getting in the way of first the trunk and then the bags, causing the driver to shake his fist at the child when the loading is done.

For her part, Regina clutches the last bag tightly in her left hand. The leather is a little worn at the corners and around the clasp; hallmarks of a bag well-used and well-loved, all in the service of others. She runs her fingers over the embossed lettering, less raised than they were in her childhood, but she reads it as a form of Braille unconsciously. 

_Dr. Henry X. Mills._

“Regina,” Mother says finally, stirred into action by Regina’s first tentative steps towards the door. “Darling, please. Rethink this. I beg of you.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. But it’s been two weeks since I sent acceptance of their job offer, and I’m not delaying a moment longer. Take care of yourself. And Zelena, and the boys. I’ll write, just as often as I can.”

“If you survive the journey. Between the weather and the Indians--”

“Mother!” Regina snaps. “Don’t let’s part on these terms. I’m sure the Colorado Territory is much more settled now the gold rush has calmed. I wouldn’t go if I thought I’d be anything but safe. And out there, they clearly care more about good medical care than the sex of the person providing it.”

“You’re giving up a husband,” Mother warns. “And these last waning years where you might have a child of your own. Marry well and you could rule over this city. Certainly as Mrs. White you could.”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

Regina dodges yet another restrictive hug and strides out to greet the driver, whose foot-tapping impatience is evident as he holds the door of the carriage open for her. She pauses, looking for Roland to say her goodbyes, but the boy who’s been visiting every day for the best part of a month is now nowhere to be seen. She shakes her head, consoling herself with the thought that this will be easier than soothing the tears of a child anyway. He hadn’t believed she would really go.

A minute later she’s situated, the driver’s weight settling on the front of the cab and then the crack of the reins jostling them into motion. She sits in contemplative silence on the short journey to the railway station, reaching neither for her book nor her needlework, content to leave those for the many days of travel still ahead. It’s the best part of five days to St Louis on this train, and who knows exactly how many after that, relying on the vagaries of stagecoaches to carry her across the plains of Missouri and Kansas. 

This is really it, Regina thinks, her stomach churning with the excitement and a healthy dose of fear. The dice are cast. The smoke from the train will soon be billowing out behind her, and in just over a week she’ll be waking up in what seems like another world entirely. Mother’s disapproval rankles, it always has, but that’s not enough to dim the sense of righteousness in this decision.

“But please Daddy,” Regina whispers. “Please, be proud of me.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

There’s considerable clucking from the porter when he realizes she’s traveling without a chaperone, but a swift barrage of advice for the shoulder muscle he’s favoring quickly brings him onside. 

Directly on time, the train gets up a head of steam and chugs away from the platform. Regina sits by the window but stares resolutely ahead at where the porter has stacked her luggage on the far side of the berth. Looking back at the platform and hoping to see Mother or Zelena clutching a hanky in farewell is foolish, but Regina knows she’ll weaken if she doesn’t keep staring right at her trunk.

Her trunk that is moving. At first it’s easy to assume it’s the jostling of the train. There sure is enough noise and bluster on top of the screeching of wheels against metal, but Regina spent too many hours trapped at the pianoforte with a metronome not to notice when the movements are out of rhythm.

Cautiously, she fishes the key from her purse. A padlock wouldn’t be necessary traveling somewhere Mother approved of, but it had been Regina’s first purchase when considering the often lawless lands of newly-settled territory. If some poor animal has gotten trapped by her careless packing left right until the last second, it will be punishment enough to find some of her gowns ruined. It had been difficult to keep the suggested silks and lace out of there that the servants kept including. At least once a day Regina had been unpacking those carefully folded gowns and replacing them with far more practical ones instead. 

With hands that barely tremble, Regina twists the fragile little key and clicks the lock. She shifts the trunk as far as she can turn it, grunting in a far from ladylike fashion. When it’s pointing towards the compartment door, still ajar, she takes a deep breath and yanks the lid up. 

What shoots out is not one of the dogs that her mother insists on keeping, nor even a disgruntled mouse. No, it’s the dirty moppet Roland, grinning from cheek to cheek like he’s just performed an amusing little party trick. 

“Hi there, lady doc.”

“Roland!” Regina gasps. “What the devil are you doing? Sneaking in my luggage like this, not paying a fare on the train, why that’s a crime!”

“They can’t charge me for a seat if I’m traveling in a box,” Roland replies, confident in his logic. “And, ‘sides, I ain’t really got nowhere to be back in Boston. Thought I’d come protect you on the wild frontier.”

“But what about your father? He must be worried sick.”

“Nah,” Roland shook his head, making his dirty curls fall in front of his face. “They hung him last week. That’s why I wasn’t around for a day or two. When I saw Mrs. Cora couldn’t make you stay, that’s when I made up my mind.”

“There’s no guarantee where I’m going will be suitable for a child. You should have gone to the authorities, my boy. They’d do right by you. Or the church, perhaps.”

“The authorities would send me to a poorhouse,” Roland spits, angry with her now and pacing the cabin like a trapped animal. “And as for churches? Spare me what passes for Christian pity, ma’am. They don’t like anything that doesn’t go away when you throw money at it.”

“That’s very cynical for one so young.”

“I’m nine. I’m almost a man.”

“Oh. Well. Of course you are. I should take you to the guard and have him put you on the first train heading back east.”

“Take me with you, please.” Roland falls to his knees in front of her. “Just to this town of yours. If you ain’t got room or money to keep me, well, I’ll make my own way. But don’t leave me all alone in a place like Boston. Not without my daddy.”

“Fine,” Regina sighs. “First things first, we must find the guard and buy you a ticket. Same goes for the stagecoach in St. Louis. I won’t have any sneaking or any breaking the law, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“There’s no need to scrape and curtsey,” Regina admonishes when Roland lays it on a bit too thick. “I’m not the Queen of England.”

“Thanks for taking me with you, doc.”

“You say that like I had a choice.”

“I suppose if you really didn’t want me here, you could have thrown me out the window by now,” Roland says with a grin.

“Don’t give me ideas.” Regina’s warning is friendly, and then she hears the rattle of a trolley in the corridor. “Now, you must be hungry and thirsty, my little stowaway.”

Roland’s eyes light up, and Regina can’t help but smile. The ache of loneliness since Father passed, the sense of being adrift in the world, has lessened ever so slightly.

***

On the tenth day of travel, even Regina’s optimism is fraying. They’ve been delayed by two tremendous storms so far, the second of which almost wrecked the stagecoach beyond repair. If the tracks were rough before, they’re absolutely bone-shaking now. Roland, trying to make the best of it, bounces along in counterpoint, but after ten minutes or so even he falls silent. 

At the next stop, as the horses take on water, Regina is quick to stretch her legs. 

“How much farther to Colorado Springs?” She asks the driver, yet another man scandalized by her traveling alone. That she called herself a widow and heavily implied Roland is her son has not been her finest moment, but she’s committed to the ruse now. 

“I reckon about three more hours,” he answers, considering the sun on the horizon. “See that pass up there, ma’am? Just the other side of that.”

The relief is palpable, and Regina will be sure to tip him handsomely, regardless of his once surly demeanor. 

“Thank you,” she says. “You’ve worked hard to keep us all safe. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that we appreciate it.”

“Worst isn’t over yet,” he grumbles. “That pass is a dangerous one. Hold on to your hat, ma’am.”

Regina rounds up Roland from where he’s been hiding behind a tree and ushers him back into the coach. The quiet men opposite nod in acknowledgment but say nothing further. Three more hours of this stifling company, Regina thinks. Right now it feels more like three days stretching out in front of her.

***

The pass is treacherous indeed, and after more than one moment where it felt more like falling than driving, Regina practically leaps from the coach the very minute it comes to a halt in what is apparently the town square. She isn’t expecting the mud, and sinks in it up to her ankles, ruining a perfectly decent pair of heeled boots in the process.

“Roland,” she warns. “Don’t jump from--”

But he does, splattering them both with a fresh coating of mud. Regina wipes her face clean and sighs. As first impressions go, this will not be her strongest. She looks around for someone to meet her, but there’s little sign of anyone on the Main Street beyond the yapping stray dogs chasing one another. 

“Where d’ya want these?” The driver asks, dropping Regina’s trunk in the mud without much care. Her bags, mercifully, are placed on top. She clutches her father’s medical bag right away, holding it in front of her like an impromptu shield.

“I’m not quite sure, yet. Excuse me, sir?” A short, thin man has emerged from the nearest storefront. Looking more closely, Regina sees it’s some kind of pawn shop. The man leans on his walking stick and surveys her with flinty eyes. “Sir, could I possibly trouble you to leave my bags here on your porch?”

“No trouble to me, dearie. Unless you expect me to do the lifting.”

A much younger woman emerges from the store, linking her arm with the man’s. 

“You’re new in town?” The accent is unfamiliar, nothing like the crisp New England dialect Regina grew up with, nor the flat Midwestern tones she’s learning to decipher. “Isn’t anyone coming to meet you?”

“I’m looking for a… Reverend Hopper?” Regina ventures. “It wasn’t possible to wire an exact arrival time, with the storms. Perhaps if you could direct me?”

“Church is at the end of the street, take a left,” the man points with his stick. “Have your driver bring your things inside. You never know what might happen to them left outside in a frontier town like this, Miss…?”

“Mills,” Regina supplies, not bothering to correct the title yet. She’s had enough incredulous looks on that subject to last her a lifetime. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask yours?”

“Mr. Gold,” he supplies. “This is my wife, Belle.”

“What a beautiful name,” Regina says, already itching to leave. “Roland, will you please wait here with Mrs. Gold for just a few minutes? Stay outside and don’t get anything dirty, now. You don’t mind if I--”

“Of course,” Belle says, though her smile is tight. “Your boy will be just fine with us.”

“Thank you,” Regina says, quite sincerely. “I’ll be right back just as soon as I’ve seen the Reverend.”

***

The church is, well, a tad ramshackle to say the least. While the roof seems sturdy enough and supported by decent props, most of the walls look as though a stiff breeze would collapse them, crude stained glass and all. 

“Reverend?” Regina calls out when a tall, red-headed man emerges from the building, Bible in hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you an exact time, but I’m here now!”

“I’m sorry?” The Reverend seems genuinely puzzled as he walks up the path to Regina, offering his hand and kissing her knuckles lightly when she offers her own in return. “Wait, you must be… Mrs. Mills?”

“Not Mrs., no.”

“It’s funny, the telegram didn’t mention anything about family coming too, although we always assumed it was possible. What eligible young doctor wouldn’t want a wife as pretty as you?”

“Reverend, if this is some kind of joke at my expense…”

“I beg your pardon?”

Regina sighed. It had been too good to be true. “I, Reverend, am Dr. Regina Mills, of Boston, Massachusetts. I’m here to provide healthcare to the citizens of Colorado Springs. As we agreed in our telegrams.”

“But… no, that’s not possible. We’re expecting a Dr. Reginald Mills, you see.”

“It sounds to me like someone has done some assuming,” Regina offers, her throat tight. She will not, no matter what happens now, be driven from this post. “Perhaps we could clear it up, in town? Only I need to find out where my lodgings are, and arrange for my things to be sent there.”

“Well, I uh, I s’pose there’s no harm in just checking those telegrams. Just so I get my facts straight, you understand?”

“Where’s that?” Regina asks through gritted teeth, the cold mud already seeping through her boots. She wants badly to have ten minutes of privacy and some warm water to clean up with.

“At Mr. Gold’s store,” the Reverend supplies. “Follow me, miss.”

“It’s Doctor…” Regina mutters at his retreating back. This is not going to plan at all.

***


	3. Chapter 3

It takes just a minute to discover the mistake from the telegram, and Gold himself had done the assuming. 

“Well, I’m here now,” Regina insists as she steps back out into the town square with Reverend Archie. “And as far as I can tell, this town still needs a doctor.”

“We do. But you have to understand, this isn’t Boston. People here? They’re not going to accept a… a woman as their doctor.”

“I find illness is a wonderful way to concentrate the mind in that regard. Given the choice between death or life-saving treatment from a woman, there's usually not much contest," Regina lies. This final setback has imbued a strange confidence, and no matter what she will not return to Mother, tail between her legs.

"Well, this is the lodging house, only one in town officially. We, uh, might be able to manage an arrangement tonight while you wait for tomorrow's stage. We will, of course, pay for your safe passage home. The error is clearly on our end."

"Reverend," Regina sighs, rapping her knuckles against the front door when he fails to. "I think you're misunderstanding me. I have no plan to leave, tomorrow or any other day."

The door opens and a petite woman with long, dark braids appears. Though the braiding is neat enough in places, overall her hair has a wild and barely-tamed quality that Regina quietly frets may just be a consequence of living all this way out West. No salons in Colorado. Not yet, anyway.

"Archie!" She greets the Reverend. "Brought another lost sheep back to our flock, have we?"

"This is no sheep," Archie replies. "In fact, this is our visitor from Boston. Miss, uh--"

"Dr. Mills. But you can just call me Regina."

"This is our new doctor?" The woman's tired face, weather beaten around the cheeks but otherwise as pale as snow, lights up at the news. "Why, Archie. You progressive old devil, you."

"I was just explaining that you don't usually take single female lodgers. Men only, that sort of thing. Isn't that right, Mary Margaret?"

“Well, so far I’ve only had men asking,” Mary Margaret replies. “But nobody ever made a rule about it. Henry? Get out here and help the Reverend with this luggage.”

A skinny youth of about 12 appears in the doorway, not yet as tall as Regina herself. When he lifts the trunk though, it’s with an easy sort of strength, Clearly the boy has already begun to work for a living. It’s only then that she remembers Roland, lurking behind her and waiting to see if this is the moment she turns him away.

“My… ward will be staying with me for a while? I’m happy to share a room, or pay for a second one.”

“Let me see him,” Mary Margaret demands, and Roland steps forward, chin up proudly. He’s going to be a heartbreaker, Regina realizes. Already he’s handsome in a rakish sort of way. “I think you’d rather share a room with my Henry than the good doctor here, wouldn’t you?”

“Okay?”

“That’s agreed then. We’ll just add his meals to your tab, doc. Now, follow me and let’s get you situated.”

Regina nods to Roland, who scurries after Henry towards the stairs. She smiles and follows Mary Margaret, trying not to let her gaze linger too long on the very modest accommodations.

***

Dinner and rest in a real bed is the order of the evening, but Regina is roused and ready with the rooster crow the next morning. She creeps upstairs to check on Roland, just a mess of curls peeping out over the blanket in the sagging but warm-looking bed he currently shares with Henry. 

Over breakfast, she fusses with the collar of her plainest gray dress, having torn the lace frill from it only that morning to make it all a bit less Boston. They make small talk over oatmeal and Regina gathers her medical bag before asking a question of Mary Margaret.

“Your rooms here are just lovely, Mary Margaret. But in the absence of any further help from your good Reverend, I think I’ll have to find some accommodations more suiting for a medical practice. Where might I place an advert? The local paper?”

“We don’t really have one as such. Most everything in town goes in the window of Gold’s shop: help wanted, that sort of thing? For a price, of course. But it usually works.”

“Wonderful. I’ll head right over there after I’ve squared things away in my room.” Regina stands then, nodding at the soldiers who’ve entered the kitchen. They ignore her as one, and she feels her face warm in a blush of embarrassment. “Roland, if you stay here a while, I want you to help Mary Margaret with any chores she might have for you, is that understood? No running off to play.”

“Oh, I’m sure Henry would love some help with his work,” Mary Margaret agrees, nodding towards both boys. “And Roland, you can meet Grace. She’s my eldest.”

“Thank you,” Regina says with complete sincerity. She picks up her medical bag from where it’s been resting between her feet. “I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

***

The walk to Gold’s is barely more than a city block, but Regina doesn’t linger on the short path through churned up mud and a faint suggestion of sidewalk. She’s done the best she can with her mud-stained boots, scrubbing with a stiff brush and leaving them to dry out on the windowsill overnight. There’s little point in ruining anything else until she can come by something more appropriate.

Townspeople stare at her with open curiosity as she passes, and she smiles tightly at each one, dipping her head in acknowledgment. The hat she has pinned to her hair already itches at her scalp, and she wishes, not for the first time, that she might be free of such trappings. At least, she muses, as the sun climbs even higher in the sky, it should protect her from the vagaries of sunstroke.

“Mr Gold?” She calls out, after stepping through the shop door and making a hidden bell somewhere jangle. “Am I too early?”

“That depends, dearie. Too early for what?”

“I wanted to place an advertisement. I was told here was the place to do it.”

“Board’s full.” Gold looks her up and down slowly, settling on a sneer. “And from what I hear, you won’t be sticking round long enough to get the replies.”

“If I caused you any trouble with the Reverend yesterday over that little telegram mistake--”

“Reverend’s no boss of mine. But the board’s still full. Good day, Miss Mills.”

“It’s Doctor Mills,” she snaps. “And if that’s your noticeboard,” she adds, sweeping one arm over the store’s dusty, dingy interior. “Then there’s more than ample room.”

The door makes its tinny jingling noise again, and a blonde woman steps in, framed by the weak morning sunlight. At first, Regina almost mistakes her for a man, such is the masculine cut of the suede and furs that the stranger wears. But there’s no mistaking the soft curls in that long blonde hair, or the delicate lines of a feminine face; already a rare sight out here on the frontier.

“I’ve warned you,” Gold growls from behind the counter. “No beasts in this store. Shouldn’t you be off bartering with your precious Indians?”

“Ruby is no beast,” The blonde responds, patting the head of the large gray wolf that sits patiently by her side. “What trouble are you giving this lady?”

“She wants to place an advert on my already full board. Don’t you start interfering in my business, Emma Swan. Nobody needs you to be their savior today.”

Emma considers a moment, before crossing the shop floor and surveying the contents of the board. 

“Dead,” she announces, pulling one notice and crumpling it up. She tosses it carelessly to one side, but it still contrives to land in the wastepaper basket alongside the counter. “Built. Gone. Bankrupt. Dead. Dead. Deserted.” She pulls each one off with one sharp tug and before long there are spaces all over the blanched wood that hangs as a noticeboard. “You got your notice there, miss?”

Regina hands over her slip of paper before she can think better of it, nodding at Emma in silent thanks. 

“Actually, Mr Gold here might have a point. I’m sure your money for placing this here notice is no good to him, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Gold responds, but his eyes are narrowing in suspicion. Regina is too stunned by the sudden about-face to do much beyond squeak quietly in indignation. “That’s right.”

“This town is impossible,” Regina huffs, snatching her note back from the useless Emma Swan and hitching her skirts enough to brave the mud outside on the street. “Perhaps you’ll learn some good old-fashioned manners next time a bout of typhoid comes sweeping through.”

She storms out into the sodden streets of Colorado Springs, her face flushed and her back rigid with sheer frustration. It’s not until she’s almost back at the boarding house that she feels a gentle tug at her elbow.

“Miss--”

“My name is Regina Mills, M.D.,” she snarls. “You may address me as Doctor, or Dr. Mills.”

“Fine. Doctor,” Emma continues, pulling around in front of Regina and effectively blocking her path. “Don’t get mad, I was just trying to save you some money back there. You shouldn’t give Gold a brass cent if you can help it.”

“Well, I might well need to, if I’m ever to find a home out here. Especially one large enough to contain my practice office, too.”

“Treatment rooms? Or just an office?”

“Ideally one of both.”

“Well, then you definitely don’t need Gold. You ride?”

“Of course I ride. I just… don’t have a horse yet.”

Emma squints into the sun as it rises even higher in the morning sky, illuminating the ramshackle buildings of the town in a far kinder light. Beneath the fringed suede of her shirt, Regina notes defined biceps and the toughened hands of one who’s worked the land a large portion of their life.

“You come by Gus the blacksmith this afternoon, we’ll see to it about getting you a pony or something. Then there’s some property I can show you, should be just what you’re looking for.”

The wolf ambles up to them then, sniffing Emma’s hand as a form of greeting, before turning her wet, black nose to the folds of Regina’s gray dress. 

“That sounds very helpful, Miss… Swan, was it?”

“You can call me Emma.”

“Emma. Thank you. Shall we say around two?”

Emma nods, offering a hand to shake. The skin isn’t as rough as Regina is expecting, and the firm grip of a handshake is as pleasant as it is respectful; something Regina has found sorely lacking in a world without her father. 

When Regina enters the boarding house once more, she finds Mary Margaret humming contentedly as she sweeps up in the parlor. 

“Anything I can do to help?” Regina asks when the young woman finally notices her standing in the doorway. “I find myself at a loose end for the rest of the morning.”

“You any good with a needle and thread?” Mary Margaret asks after considering a moment. “Only I’ve got a few shirts need mending.”

“I’m a doctor, remember,” Regina says with good grace. “They don’t let you do that if you can’t stitch people up.”

“Good enough for me,” Mary Margaret decides, setting the broom aside. “How did you get on with Gold?”

“I didn’t.” Regina feels petty for still being angered at his treatment, but there’s no getting rid of it. “Though I seem to have found myself a champion for the day. Very chivalrous.”

“Doesn’t sound like many fellas I know.”

“Ah, possibly because this chivalry came from a woman. You must know her, E--”

“Emma Swan? Sure do. She’s a bit of an odd duck, mind. Just like you, I suppose. Neither one of you is much like what a woman is intended to be now, are you?”

“Well, let me darn some shirts and I’ll see what I can do on that score.” Regina laughs, because despite the potential for animosity, Mary Margaret has been the most welcoming thing about this prairie outpost. “Think that will work to sweeten Mr. Gold, too?”

Mary Margaret whistles softly through her teeth. “Can’t say that it will. That man’s been set in his ways a long time. He’s spent his whole time here trying to talk Archie out of recruiting a real doctor, and yet here you are anyway.”

“Why wouldn’t he--”

“There’s money to be made in pulling teeth and giving sick friends what amounts to little more than a pouch of herbs for their every ailment. You setting up with your fancy degree is more competition that Gold will like. All medicine comes with a price, and he’s not one for sharing the pot.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense,” Regina muses. “Surely he doesn’t assist in childbirth?”

“No, like most places we have a midwife for that.”

“You?” Regina asks.

“No,” Mary Margaret replies with a snort. “Granny Lucas, she runs the saloon. You tip well on your first drink in there, explain what you can do for ma and baby alike, she’ll soon welcome you to her practice. Not that it’s official, of course. She’s just seen as many births as most of us have had hot dinners.”

“Thank you,” Regina says, placing a hand on Mary Margaret’s forearm to show the sincerity of it. “I don’t quite know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh, you’d be just fine.” Mary Margaret blushes at the compliment all the same. “Those fancy Boston manners of yours will win over some people, I just know it. Say, you really came all this way without a husband? Are you engaged, at least?”

Regina sighs. It was foolish to think that nobody would ever ask, especially in a town so rough around the edges.

“I was.”

The past tense is enough to deter her hostess, and Regina seizes the opportunity to change the subject.

“If I’m to go to Gus’s place… he’s the blacksmith, right? How far is that from here?”

“Not so far,” Mary Margaret tells her, picking out clean shirts from her pile that have a torn cuff or seam here and there. “About as far as you went to Gold’s and the same distance again, right at the end of Main Street. I can take you, if I don’t have any new boarders from today’s stage.”

“Oh, I’ll find my way. Thank you.”

***

Punctual to a fault, Regina found herself walking past the livery stables more than once and looping back until on the third circuit she almost walked straight into Emma. Flustered, she reached out to pet the wolf’s head, and Emma looked on in surprise.

“Can’t say that Ruby takes to most people so easily. You must have the magic touch.”

“We always had dogs at home,” Regina explains. “My father liked to keep a couple of hunters around, but he had a soft spot for strays in the street, too. Drove my mother quite crazy at times. Finding a litter of pups in the linen closet when she least expected it, that kind of thing.”

“You want to go get that horse?” Emma is abrupt, but not overly so. She seems more uncomfortable than anything. “If you’re some city girl who’s only ever driven around in a buggy, now’s the time to tell me.”

Regina can’t resist the deception, so she makes a play of a worrying glance towards the stables and worrying at her bottom lip for just a moment. 

“How hard can it be?” She asks in her haughtiest voice, before marching right inside the building. A tall, black man nods in acknowledgment from the forge where he’s beating the shape into a red-hot horseshoe. He’s the first non-white person Regina has seen in town, and his presence alone warms her. The coldness of a Massachusetts winter and a lady’s insistence on always sheltering from the sun has given her a passing form of whiteness, but she carries her father and his heritage in her heart, always. 

“Looking for a horse?” Gus asks when the hammering ends. “I don’t have many to choose from.” He nods to the stalls that ring around the internal courtyard of his shop. “Too hot in here for ‘em, you’d best go have a look ma’am. Unless you’re waiting for your husband?”

“Gus,” Emma steps in from the shadows of the doorway, startling them both. “This is our new doctor. Make sure you do right by her, now. Sick people gonna be depending on her visits. Can’t have a horse that falls down and dies at the very mention of Pikes Pass now, can we?”

“Alright, Swan. Take her through and show her the chestnut. She’s the best I got, and I’ll sell her on at what I paid for her. That fair enough for you?”

“You’re a good man, Gus.”

Emma points the way to the first of the stalls, and Regina can see that the chestnut has some decent breeding. There’s a skinny Palomino the next stall over, and a nervous Bay next to that. Right in the corner, Regina sees the horse that makes her heart skip in excitement. 

“The black horse. He must be a stallion, no? Look at him.”

“That’s a man’s horse, ma’am,” Gus supplies, coming out to join them and wiping the sweat from his face with a rag. “I don’t just mean his height. He’s a real bad-tempered sumbitch too, if you’ll pardon my language.”

“I’d like to see him,” Regina demands, folding her arms over her chest. “I know a good horse when I see one.”

“You don’t know the first thing--” Emma starts to mutter under her breath, but a glare from Regina soon shuts her up. “I’ll take him out, Gus. She can’t say we didn’t warn her,” Emma adds, aloud this time.

Even the seemingly tough Emma Swan approaches the stall with some trepidation. She certainly doesn’t speed up when the huge stallion starts kicking out at the real wall in response to her approach. She’s wily enough to approach from the side, pulling some vegetable or other out to act as a treat. The horse calms just long enough to snatch and chew the dirt-coated carrot, and that’s time enough for Emma to get the reins slipped on and lead him out.

He stomps and snorts in the small courtyard, a vision with his rippling black coat, shiny eyes and silky mane. Truth be told, he has no place in this shop, which is about one step above the knacker’s yard, and something about his frustration speaks to Regina on almost a gut level, no matter how much science tells her that her intestine has very little to say on the subject.

“Shall I put him back?” Emma asks, taking Regina’s admiration as hesitance. 

“Oh, honestly,” Regina sighs, hiking her skirts and stepping across the muddy courtyard in almost comically high strides. Emma moves to come between her and the horse, but Regina steps right past her, and summoning all her years of practice, reaches out to pat the huge horse right on his nose.

He calms instantly, and Regina hears Gus whistle in surprise behind her. Emma actually lets go of the reins in surprise, mouth agape as she watches the horse nuzzle against Regina.

“Can I have a saddle on him, please? Unless you expect your town doctor to ride bareback across the plains?”

Gus springs into action, saddling the horse and pausing only to stare in wonder at the calmness of the huge beast. 

“You’ll send me your bill at the guesthouse?” Regina asks. “I’m not sure I brought out cash enough for such a magnificent animal.”

“Whatever you’d like, ma’am,” Gus steps aside as she leads the horse through the gate and out into the street.

“Ha!” Emma calls out from behind her. “Calming a horse is one thing, but you’ll need a ladder to climb on a fella so big, surely?”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Regina warns, placing her foot in the stirrup. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

With all the strength she can muster, something Mother would find rampantly unfeminine, Regina hoists herself up and on to the waiting saddle. It’s a close call, since the horse really is a little large for someone of her stature, but a lifetime of not shirking a challenge has lead her to countless moments like this.

“Well, Miss Swan,” Regina announces, ignoring the stares of the townspeople and looking down only at her new acquaintance. “I believe you had some property to show me.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s clear the horse wants to take off at a gallop, but Regina is careful in how she handles the reins and her heels, spurring him only gently and keeping him in check as they trot along one of the roads out of town. 

“Got a name?” Emma asks after a moment. “For the horse, I mean.”

“I was thinking… Rocinante,” Regina recalls her father’s favorite book and the choice is a simple one. He’d taught her to ride, after all, over all of Mother’s objections. “It suits him, don’t you think?”

“Never gave much thought to what suits a horse,” Emma answers with a grunt. 

“Says the woman who named a wolf for a precious gem,” Regina teases. “No, don’t tell me. She chose her own name, is that it?”

“I reckon she’s smart enough that she could.” With that, Emma clicks at the wolf and she runs off ahead, never quite disappearing from sight. Regina smiles at the loyalty, it reminds her of her father’s dogs and the devotion they always showed him. They make their way in silence, only the clip and clop of Rocinante’s hooves against the packed dirt track making much of a sound at all.

Eventually the road curves into a sort of clearing, and they must be a fair hike from the town itself now. Regina squints at the treeline, wondering where in all that mess anything that might make a medical practice could be found. 

“You have to come a little further,” Emma notices the confusion, and offers a hand to help Regina from the horse. Her palm is smooth and dry as she grips, and honestly Regina might have refused if the horse weren’t quite so many hands high. There’s a knack to landing in heeled boots after all, and getting it wrong isn’t worth a broken ankle or worse.

With Rocinante secured to a sturdy bit of fencing, Regina follows Emma’s lead across the sparse grass of the clearing. As they turn westerly, the space opens up all over again, and right there sits the handsomest building Regina has seen since leaving St. Louis.

“Well, now.” Regina stalks closer to the broad porch, the screens over it as finely crafted as anything she might have sheltered under back in Boston. The property seems undamaged, save for small signs of wear and tear on the outer walls and dust coating the windowpanes. 

“It’s, uh, three bedrooms, or rooms anyhow. There’s a parlor, and a kitchen of course. I’ve never been one for cooking, but the house came with one anyway.”

“This is your own house?” Regina whirls round in astonishment. “But where will you live?”

“I’ve made my arrangements,” Emma snaps, before forcing a half-smile. “Point is, this should be big enough for all your medicine whatnots. And there’s two barns just over there could be made into something else, should you need it.”

“That’s really quite a find,” Regina is waiting for the catch. Negotiating with a man, this is the point she’d expect to find herself taken advantage of. With Emma Swan, she has little idea what to expect.

“Dollar a month,” Emma decides with a shrug, clapping her hands in recognition as Ruby comes bounding over from the direction of the barns. “There’s my girl,” she grunts as the wolf stands on its hind legs to greet her, still as excited as a puppy. “I got some business in a while with the Cheyenne--”

“Oh, you should go, then.” Regina has no intention of imposing. “If you don’t mind me looking around here for a while?”

“Whatever you like,” Emma agrees easily, tipping the cap she wears over her long blonde hair. “Just don’t break anything, now.”

Regina doesn’t get a chance to retort, because Emma takes off at a jog, Ruby chasing after her. The house is distraction enough, and Regina opens the front door without hesitation, eager to get started.

The layer of dust in the window is, unfortunately, in evidence on every surface. There’s a smell like mothballs coming from somewhere, and maybe a sort of dampness. Regina ignores that, confident a good sweeping and airing out will get things in order, even if she hasn’t technically kept house before there can’t be too much to learn. Should the practice pick up quickly enough, she can even engage a maid or housekeeper, provide a little more employment out here on the frontier. It’s what her daddy would have done, she assures herself.

Out back in the garden she finds some unpicked vegetables that haven’t rotted, and pockets them for Rocinante and the ride back into town. She isn’t too sure if Mary Margaret has the stable room for another horse, but it comes to it, Regina will have to improvise. She’s beginning to see that’s the way things are done out here, and she’ll just have to learn to like that.

Before she leaves, she remembers the contents of the medical bag that’s been hanging in the crook of her elbow. Rooting past the stethoscope and various packets of powder, her fingertips quickly alight on a solid piece of wood.

‘Regina Mills, M.D.’ the sign proclaims as she hangs it on an errant nail sticking out from the shingle. Yes. That will do very nicely indeed.

***

“There you are!” Mary Margaret comes running out from her kitchen as Regina brings Rocinante to a halt. From every side of the square people are staring openly at the newcomer on her horse, grand sight that he is. “When you were gone so long at the blacksmith I came looking and Gus told me some tale about you taking off on the most dangerous stallion he’s ever laid eyes on. If we had a Sheriff in this town, I’d have sent him out to search for you.”

“I’ve been around horses my whole life,” Regina explains kindly, dismounting as gracefully as she can. Thankfully a sunny day has made the muddy ground somewhat less treacherous. “And I’ve acquired some premises for my practice. A very good afternoon, all told.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Out over yonder,” Regina points in the general direction of the homestead she’s just leased. Speaking of which, she’ll have to formalize things in writing with Emma, but this victory has been just the injection of energy she needs to take on any task. 

“You sure you’re pointing the right way?” Mary Margaret squints at the horizon. “Why, the only thing out there is the Indian camps. Oh, and… wait, you said Gus rented you some property?”

“Oh, not Gus,” Regina corrects. “A woman by the name of Swan. I simply met her there to acquire a horse and then view this property. Speaking of my boy Rocinante here, what are your accommodations for a hungry horse who needs a good rubdown?”

“Henry takes care of that. Stables are just round in back, such as they are. But your steed here will have a solid roof over his head and plenty of hay.”

“I’m not sure Henry can handle this one.”

“He looks pretty docile now.”

“Yes, but Gus wasn’t exaggerating earlier, I fear. I’d feel terrible if anything happened to a child.”

“Lady doc!” Roland comes spilling out of the kitchen then, dirt smeared across one cheek. “Henry’s been… whoa! Is that yours?”

“Roland, meet Rocinante.”

“Rossy what now?”

“Roland, we have a new home to go with Rocinante. We’ll be moving there in the morning, if that’s acceptable to Mary Margaret here. If you have some minimum stay that I need to pay, that’s no problem--”

“No need,” Mary Margaret waves her away. “Only I still haven’t asked, did Emma Swan really rent you her own homestead out by? That’s not like her.”

“What do you mean?” Regina demands, fretting that her chance of establishing herself might be snatched away so soon. “She was the one to suggest it when she came to my defense at Mr. Gold’s.”

“She spoke to Mr. Gold for you?” Mary Margaret is genuinely shocked now, her voice practically a squeak. “Oh my lord, what a day this is. Well. Tomorrow I should be rid of my soldiers and you’re my only other guests so far. I reckon me and my staff here should come help you set up at this new practice. What say you to that, Doctor?”

“I’d be glad of the help, honestly.” Regina smiles at the younger woman, pleased to be making something like a new friend. “Though I’ll insist on treating you all to lunch for the favor.”

“You got yourself a deal. Henry, git yourself round here and show the doc to the stables. Mind the doc’s orders on this one, he’s a big beast.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.” Henry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the grime and sweat of a day’s work already evident on his skin and his clothing. Regina takes in his skinny frame her instincts, not wishing to disrupt the only relationship she’s forged in this frontier town. “Want me to walk him?”

“Come here first,” Regina decides. “Stand just to the side here, okay? Now give me your right hand.” The boy extends his hand easily, and Mary Margaret watches on in what seems like amazement. “Now pat his nose, just like so, you see?”

“I do,” Henry whispers, patting the horse with the gentle touch of an obedient child. “Oh, he’s a fine fella, ain’t he?”

“That he is,” Regina agrees. “You can lead him now, but I’ll be right on the other side if he gets ornery, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They walk the horse around back across another small courtyard and Regina is pleased to see a clean and roomy stable is waiting, the hay as fresh as she could hope for and the trough brimming with rainwater. She watches with no small amount of trepidation as the young boy walks the horse in and gets him situated, setting a blanket out on the stall wall and fetching a worn but sturdy brush.

“You don’t mind if I have a crack at it?” He asks, clearly as taken with Rocinante as Regina herself. “He seems to be okay with me, and I know better than ever to go in back of him.”

“I’ll stay, if you don’t mind? Just in case. Here, let me close the gate and you can get those reins off him first of all.” Regina does as promised, patting Rocinante’s head in reassurance once more. “You like working with horses, do you? Planning to ask Gus to take you on as an apprentice?”

“Maybe,” Henry starts to brush Rocinante’s flanks in slow but steady strokes. It draws a snort of contentment from the horse, before he starts to nudge at the hay in front of him. “I mean, I’d like to but people say you can’t go work for a n-” He freezes at Regina’s glare. “Well, for a man who comes from slaves. It would be strange for him, is all I mean.”

“Smithing is a fine trade. Men will be needed if the frontier keeps pushing west. Your mama must want a trade for you, surely?”

“Mama as in Mary Margaret?” Henry looks confused for a moment. “Oh, yeah, she’s my ma. I mean, I love her like she birthed me herself, sure I do. It’s just she took me and Grace in. She tells me we were foundlings or some such thing. David was here then, too.”

“David?”

“Her husband. You haven’t heard them call her the Widow Blanchard? Well, that’s what she is. Say, Roland tells me you ain’t his blood mother neither. Maybe if you spoke to my Ma, she’d take him in too? She sure does love the little ‘uns, and Grace and I will be gone off to work before you know it.”

“Well, Roland came here with me.” Regina feels bereft at the thought of palming him off elsewhere. Whether she’s fit to mother him is another matter entirely, but much like the new town and the new practice, she’d been hoping to make it work through sheer hard work and determination. “But if he ever wants to live with someone else, you will be the first people I ask.”

“There, boy,” Henry soothes as he moves around Rocinante, brushing the dried mud from him efficiently. “I reckon he’ll be fine now, if you want to go in and get dinner.”

“Thank you, Henry,” Regina tells him, confident enough to leave Rocinante with one last stroke of his impressive black nose.

***

“No soldiers tonight?” Regina asks as she watches Mary Margaret finish setting the table. “Or are they eating later?”

“There’s some meal with the Indians,” Mary Margaret replies with a shrug. “Something about breaking bread together and respect. I can’t say I was paying that much attention, all told. These things always end in tears after a week anyway. Waste of damn time and money.”

“Peace accords sound like a worthy goal,” Regina argues gently. “Some would say it’s the least we can do. And we just fought a war to say that in this country everyone is equal. Or they should be.”

“Well, to most people out here I can’t say that war mattered much worth a damn,” Mary Margaret replies with steel in her voice. “Same as most would say the only good Indian is a dead Indian. That’s who they’ve been fightin’.”

“That war mattered a great deal.” Regina’s throat is tight and she can see how easy it would be to walk away, to preserve this one last part of her in secret, to have the fresh start she’s been longing for since way before Father ever started to get sickly. “My fiancé, Daniel, he used to mock it just like you. Said it wouldn’t change a thing, railed against Lincoln and Lee alike. Then one day he came home in a uniform. Told me his family had talked him round and made him see the light.”

“He went to war?”

“He did. Three days later.” Regina pauses, fishing in her sleeve for her handkerchief. “He never came back. Still. What can you do?”

“That’s the trouble with loving men. They go and die on you.”

“Henry intimated as much, earlier. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Been a long time,” Mary Margaret sighs, crossing back into the kitchen and stirring the largest pot on the range. Some kind of meaty broth, judging by the scent. “My David was a romantic fool, and that never ends well. Might be I’ll tell you that story some time, but let’s not spoil dinner with it now.”

“Miss Blanchard?” Roland appears in the doorway then, looking freshly-scrubbed and as clean as Regina has ever seen him. He’s changed, at last, into clothes a little too large that must be Henry’s. With just a tiny sigh, Regina adds finding a seamstress or clothing store that will stock something for the boy. He’ll need to dress like a doctor’s son, if that is in fact what his life will more or less be. “I don’t suppose you got any of them real nice bread rolls?”

“Take one,” Mary Margaret tosses it to him from the bread basket. “If you’re real careful, you can dip it in the broth on the stove. Don’t tip it now.”

“Yes, ma’am. You want some of my roll, doc?”

“I’ll be fine, Roland,” Regina answers, but she follows him into the kitchen regardless. “We should talk, you and I. About how things are going to be here.”

“Henry says his ma likes to take in strays,” Roland says in a whisper. “So if you don’t want me--”

“I didn’t say that!” Regina is surprised by how much she wants to correct him. “I think we both have to give each other a try. We’ll have a house, and we’ll find out what people here do for schooling. Get you some clothes, teach you to ride. If, after all that, you misbehave or I don’t seem like mother enough for you? Well, then. We’ll find somewhere else for you to call home. Does that seem fair?”

“More than fair. But I’m going to have to misbehave a little.”

“How so?”

“Well, how can I pay for food and board if I don’t…” Roland leans in to whisper again. “You know, borrow things without giving them back?”

“There will be no stealing,” Regina whispers right back. Standing fully upright and raising her voice to a normal level, she continues. “And no child should have to work for those things. My promise to take care of you means a roof over your head and food in your belly, Roland. I’ll care for you like you were my own child, I swear. Will you let me?”

Roland shrugs, suddenly fascinated by the broth. Regina risks a closer look and sees wetness shimmering in his eyes.

“Come along,” she says, clearing her throat. “We can’t have all this to ourselves, can we?”

“Sure we could,” Roland teases, and when he moves to wrap his little arms around Regina’s waist in a hug, she’s not too stunned to hug him right back.

***

They’ve just finished clearing their plates when a shout goes up outside. More of a roar, in fact. Henry is the first to react, dropping his plate in the sink and dashing to throw the kitchen door wide.

“Nicky!” He calls to one of the boys in the throng. “Nicky, what’s wrong?”

“Jefferson done got himself shot!” Nicky yells back, his face giddy with a macabre excitement. “They’re takin’ him to Gold, but it’s a pretty big mess let me tell ya.”

With that, the boy is gone. Regina reaches for the medical bag she left in the hallway without a second thought. 

“Uh,” Mary Margaret lays a warning hand on Regina’s arm. “A bullet might not be reason enough for anyone to change their ways. I just don’t want you getting disappointed again.”

“This town won’t accept that they have a doctor until they see that doctor actually helping them,” Regina insists. “Besides, I dread to think what Gold will inflict on him. He probably uses telegram paper for bandages.”

“I’ll come with you, doc,” Henry offers. “Just in case the crowd gets nasty.”

“Thank you, Henry,” Regina takes his arm with no small amount of gratitude. “Now, let’s go save this man’s life, shall we?”

***


End file.
